


Gratitude and Desire

by taketheblanket



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Fingering, First Time, Keith is a virgin, Keith was tired of waiting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Penetrative Sex, Pre-Canon, Shiro laughs a lot, Shiro's a good guy with some really intense sexual desire, characters are 18+, he just can't believe it's really happening, pre-kerberos, shack origin story, trans keith, warning: uses afab words to describe FTM body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10074563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taketheblanket/pseuds/taketheblanket
Summary: It's the little things that give Keith confidence to try-- the things Shiro says to him, always easily misconstrued,  not to mention all the times Keith has caught Shiro staring at him, across classrooms, during simulations, always when he shouldn't be...Keith takes another step towards him. He reaches a hand out and catches Shiro’s wrist between his fingers, index pressing firmly against the divot where he can feel Shiro’s pulse hammering away.“Keith… don't,” Shiro starts, beginning to wrench his wrist from Keith’s grasp.“Shiro,” Keith says. “It's okay. I'm not a student anymore.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beforethequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforethequeen/gifts).



Shiro grunts as they set the couch down inside the tiny shack. He studies it for a moment, and then squats and shove the couch slightly to the left without Keith’s help, centering it under the window. Keith watches him quietly. Shiro had removed his shirt, and was sweating through his Garrison-tank. It was hot today, and they'd been working hard to scour thrift stores for cheap furniture, and then move that furniture into this little desert shack. They'd been at it for a few hours, and the guilt was starting to eat away at Keith. Guilt, and other things. 

“I can't thank you enough, Shiro…” Keith tells him. 

Shiro turns to face him, and smiles broadly from beneath red cheeks and sweat-dampened bangs. “Anything to keep you around,” Shiro tells him, in a way that doesn't really acknowledge the gravity of Keith’s situation. 

As far as Shiro was aware, Keith had been crashing on the floor of friends’ rooms since his expulsion, but that wasn't the case. Keith didn't have friends. He didn't know a single person that wouldn't rat him out for staying on campus. Except for Shiro, of course, and Shiro was, as always, _not_ an option. 

Rather, Keith had been sleeping under a blanket he stole behind a fast food joint where he scavenged for left-overs. He'd been there for five days when he ran into Shiro on the sidewalk. 

“Keith!” Shiro has sputtered, stopping in his tracks like he was seeing a ghost. 

“Uh, hi, Shiro,” Keith had answered, immediately aware of the fact that he hadn't showered, his fast-growing hair already too long and unkempt for military approval. He had tried to side step and block his dufflebag, stuffed full of Keith’s only possessions. Shiro had looked as impressive as ever, in his teacher’s uniform and freshly clipped hair, face shaved and boots shined.

“I'm so glad to see you're still in town,” Shiro had told him. Genuinely. Like a secret both men had yet to admit. Like an unwelcome hand reaching into his chest and grabbing ahold of Keith's heart. “I assumed you went home.” 

“I didn't want to go home,” Keith answers. Another lie. Home doesn't want _him_. He hadn't spoken to his father since his transition, and Keith was certain an expulsion wasn't going to improve their relationship. 

Shiro looked at Keith for a long time. Like he always did. Unmoving, twinkling eyes looking for something in Keith that Keith always, desperately wanted to provide. 

“Meet me here tomorrow, same time. I'm gonna borrow my buddy’s truck.”

Keith didn't know what time it was, and he didn't know what a truck had to do with anything, but he had nowhere else to be, so after he let Shiro buy him lunch, Keith sat down behind the restaurant and waited. He washed himself in the restaurant bathroom with hand soap and paper towels, and tried to avoid his reflection in the mirror. 

Shiro had come for him the next day, as he had promised, and bought a reluctant Keith lunch a second time. He told Keith about an abandoned surveillance shack out in the desert, where he and his classmates used to sneak off to to celebrate birthdays or occasionally get drunk. No one would even know he was there, Shiro promised him, but there was no where to sleep, so they should go buy a couch. 

And so they did, but Keith demanded he pay, and he spent his last sixty bucks on a dingy futon couch and a mini fridge from the thrift store in town. 

After a forty-five minute drive into the middle of nowhere, they pull up on small building tucked behind an outcropping of rocks. 

“This place always sort of reminds me of you,” Shiro says, almost to himself, as he puts the truck in park. Keith stares at him, unsure of how often Shiro comes here, and what such a statement is supposed to mean. 

And so Shiro helped him clean out empty beer cans and fast food wrappers, sweep and mop the floor and rearrange furniture to fit his new “bed” under the window, and Keith was feeling an intense mixture of gratitude, shame and… well. 

Keith takes a step towards Shiro, where the older man is gazing out the window at their barren surroundings. He can smell his sweat and he can see, Stars, could he see-- Shiro’s arms and neck and collarbone are on display, and they are all alone here and there is no one to catch Keith staring. 

It's the little things that give Keith confidence to try-- the things Shiro says to him, always easily misconstrued, not to mention all the times Keith has caught Shiro staring at him, across classrooms, during simulations, always when he shouldn't be...

Keith takes another step towards him. And then a third, and now Keith is close enough to smell him and he feels himself grow wet in his briefs. He reaches a hand out and catches Shiro’s wrist between his fingers, index pressing firmly against the divot where he can feel Shiro’s pulse hammering away. Shiro’s free hand lays on top of Keith’s, threatening, but also noncommittal. He looks down at Keith, and Keith tilts his chin up to stare boldly into Shiro’s grey eyes. 

“Keith… don't,” Shiro starts, beginning to wrench his wrist from Keith’s grasp. 

“Shiro,” Keith says. “It's okay. I'm not a student anymore.” 

And there it is, so plainly spoken. Shiro’s eyes flash darkly for a moment, and Keith feels his pulse becoming even more rapid beneath his fingers. Shiro tries to back away but Keith follows him, taking his other wrist so that he has Shiro pinned down against the wall. Shiro could dislodge him in a moment, and eventually, he always did, but Keith had never made it this far before. He places his feet between Shiro’s and leans into him, hips pressed together, chin perched on Shiro’s sternum as he gazes up at him. He wants to move on him, roll his swelling clit into Shiro until he feels Shiro grow hard, but Keith wills himself not to, watching Shiro as he shuts his eyes and turns his face away from Keith. 

“You're not a student, but you're still a child,” Shiro grinds out through clenched teeth. 

Keith releases him then, the statement washing away his arousal and replacing it with disgust. He takes a few steps back from Shiro, crossing his arms and spitting back, “don't insult me!” 

Shiro deflates. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” Keith asks hotly, suddenly overwhelmed by the fear of the past several days and his frustrations with Shiro. He cannot stop the tears that begin to flow unbidden over his cheeks. 

“Doing what?” Shiro asks softly, sheepishly, from the wall where he still leans. 

“Helping me! Caring about me! Leading me on,” Keith bites back. “ _Loving me,_ but only from a distance… it's too late, Shiro! I want it or I want nothing. I can't keep pining… it hurts too much.” 

If Keith had only known those words would have worked so well, he would tried them a long time ago. But then again, maybe they wouldn't have worked. Maybe they would only have worked here, in this little desert shack Shiro had given him, pulsing with an energy he could not identify. Maybe Keith had to lose everything before he could gain the one thing, the only thing, he ever really wanted. Whatever it was that caused the stars to align, Keith is grateful, and he continues to weep as Shiro gathers him in his arms and carries him to the couch. The futon almost breaks beneath their weight. Keith laughs and Shiro kisses him. 

“All I've ever wanted to do is protect you,” Shiro tells him, leaning over Keith in the couch, elbows supporting his bodyweight on either side of Keith’s shoulders. 

“I don’t need any protection,” Keith tells him, even if it isn't entirely true. Regardless, Shiro smirks down at him and answers, “I know, that's what makes you so difficult.” 

“I am not difficult,” Keith responds, but he isn't really arguing. Shiro can call him whatever he wants, as long as he stays right here, on top of him, in the middle of nowhere. He reaches up and pushes Shiro’s bangs away from his eyes. “ _You're_ difficult.” 

“I'm sorry,” Shiro tells him. Genuinely, painfully, shamefully. 

“Don't be sorry,” Keith begs. “Just kiss me.” 

And so he does, and this time, Keith opens his mouth to him and Shiro comes inside, exploring Keith’s lips and teeth and tongue, and it's new and odd and filthy and Keith finds himself whimpering softly into Shiro’s mouth. When Shiro pulls back to place tender kisses across Keith’s jawline and down his neck, his thighs spread involuntarily and Shiro settles between them. 

Shiro’s groin pressed against his own is intoxicating and Keith has to kiss him, and so he grabs Shiro's face and turns it towards his until their lips are sliding together once more. Keith can feel him. Shiro’s hardness. The proof that Shiro desires him the way he desires Shiro, too. Shiro begins rolling his hips into Keith, gently, experimentally, and Keith pants “yes yes” into their kiss. Shiro responds by breaking their kiss, having to catch his own breath as he truly begins to rut against the body beneath him. Keith tilts his hips up, and then Shiro’s clothed erection is rubbing hard against Keith’s swollen flesh and Keith cannot help by cry out, “Shiro! Oh god…” 

“I've got you, baby,” Shiro promises. 

Keith hooks his legs across Shiro’s lower back and pulls him closer, the strain on his inner thighs only making their friction sweeter. He wants more. Wants to touch Shiro, see Shiro, but he's not going to make it that long, the tight spring of climax coiling in Keith’s lower belly, where Shiro’s hips rock, rock, rock into him. The longer Shiro stares into his eyes, the harder it is for Keith to breathe. His heart begins to pound, drawing on the fire in his groin until he is certain Shiro must hear the drumming in his chest. 

He feels like he might unravel if Shiro looks away from him. Keith keeps his hands on either side of Shiro’s face, holding him there, their foreheads pressed together. He kisses him occasionally, but mostly he pants and sighs and whispers his name. 

And then Shiro shoves an arm under Keith’s shoulders and lifts him, their chests pressed together, Shiro’s mouth working rough and affectionate along Keith’s throat, lightly marking his skin. Keith’s legs fall open as his body suddenly feels heavy and soft, the heat in his belly overtaking him. 

“I'm gonna… Shir--” 

“Good,” Shiro praises, pressing the word as a kiss into Keith’s lips. 

And then Keith is coming, hips reaching desperately into Shiro’s heavy thrusts and impossible hardness. His body quakes in Shiro’s arms and he feels himself spill into his underwear. Keith struggles to catch his breath, shutting his eyes against what feels like the threat of more tears. 

Shiro holds him for a few moments, his own body trembling slightly, his heart loud in Keith’s ear. Keith's hands skate down Shiro’s neck, over his shoulders, to grab at the straps of his tank top. 

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks him softly. 

“Yes,” Keith sighs, composure returning. 

“Okay,” he chuckles, his smile warm. Shiro shifts backwards, drawing his arm from underneath Keith, breaking the contact between their hips and Keith is afraid he’ll climb off the couch all together if he doesn't stop him. 

“Wait,” Keith says, weakly at first. “Wait, Shiro.” 

Shiro pauses, looking down at Keith, his expression complicated and hard to read. Keith studies him, his broad, muscular frame, so much larger than his own, sloping down to narrow hips and that exciting bulge straining against his pants. 

“We’re not done here,” Keith tells him, eyes trailing back up his body to meet Shiro’s. 

“Keith…” Shiro says, still inscrutable. 

Keith swallows his fear. 

“Please. I want you inside me.” 

In an instant, Shiro is kissing him again, bearing his weight down on him once more. He breaks the kiss for a moment, their wet lips barely touching. 

“Say that again,” Shiro request breathily. 

“I want you inside of me. Shiro, please..”

And then Shiro groans and surges forward to kiss him again and it's a sound Keith has never heard before. It makes him feel powerful and victim at the same time. He wants to hear it again and again. 

“Exactly how I imagined it,” Shiro tells him, his words soft and disbelieving. He's looking down at Keith and shakes his head slightly from side to side. Shiro shifts his weight onto one arm, so he can touch Keith’s flushed cheek with his right hand, tenderly, too softly. His fingers trace down his jaw and neck, over his collarbone beneath his shirt and down to his bound chest, where Shiro pauses and his spreads his hand wide. Shiro knows, he's one of few who do. Keith wants to show him, but.. later, and he opens his mouth to say as much when Shiro’s hand begins to move again. Lower and lower, until Keith’s breath hitches and Shiro’s fingers find the buttons of his jeans, popping them open smoothly. 

“Better than I imagined it,” Keith tells him. 

Shiro hums in response and his dips his fingertips into the elastic waistband of Keith's briefs. Keith pants. The waiting is agony. “Shiro, come on,” he groans, Keith’s hands gripping hard into his shoulders. 

Shiro smirks, but does not look at him, his eyes trained on Keith’s hips. He removes his fingers and instead pushes Keith’s shirt up to his belly button. Keith sucks in air, trying not to squirm when Shiro drags his nails through the dark stripe of hair that starts at his navel. 

“You have to tell me,” Shiro suddenly says, pausing and lifting his gaze to meet Keith’s wide eyes, “if you've ever done this before.” 

Keith shakes his head no, but at the same time he slides his hands under Shiro’s tank top, clawing at his shoulders, desperately trying to pull him closer. 

“Good,” Shiro says softly. “I'm going to take care of you.” 

“I know,” Keith says, adamantly. “Hurry up.” 

Shiro leans down and kisses Keith, laughing against his lips. And then finally, finally, Shiro slides his hand into Keith’s underwear, and Keith’s eyes fall shut. Shiro’s hand crawls slowly down through dense curls of hair to cup Keith’s engorged member in his palm. Shiro groans again and Keith opens his eyes, wanting to watch Shiro’s reactions. He presses himself into Shiro’s palm. 

“God… Keith, you're soaked,” Shiro growls. 

“That will happen,” Keith responds. “Especially around you.” 

“Jesus,” Shiro groans. “You make me feel…”

But Shiro trails off or Keith doesn't hear him because Shiro slides one finger inside of Keith and Keith’s eyes fall shut, his head rolling back on the futon, blood pumping loudly past his ear drums. Keith moans already, his body still sensitive from his orgasm. Shiro pumps his finger a few times, and then slowly adds a second, pulling a strangled cry from Keith’s throat. He pants heavily, twice, and his eyes snap open to find Shiro red in the face and watching him intently. Shiro curls his fingers inside of Keith, rubbing at his walls, making his body quake and Keith wants more, more, more. He sits up, forcing Shiro’s fingers out of him. He reaches for Shiro’s slacks, undoing his belt and fumbling for the zipper. He feels Shiro’s erection hidden beneath his fingers, and Keith wants to claw away at the fabric between them. 

“Keith…” Shiro says, uncertain. “Not yet.” 

“I need to see you.” 

Keith grabs the zipper and tugs down, reaching his hand into Shiro’s pants to take ahold of his hard cock through his boxers. Keith feels him with both hands and Shiro gasps brokenly, his lips pressed into Keith’s ear. He pulls the elastic down and exposes Shiro, and then shoves him back against the couch so he can get a good look at him. 

With lust and fascination, Keith crawls onto his knees and leans over Shiro, wrapping one hand around his hard, red flesh, his other hand on Shiro’s thigh. Shiro lays his hand there, on top of Keith’s, and they both watch as he begins to experimentally stroke his cock. The soft sighs coming from Shiro’s mouth tell Keith that he's doing a good job. The sight of Shiro’s cock, tall and thick, the heat and weight of it in his hands… it's all for him, and it's enough to make Keith start dripping all over again. 

“Do you get hard when you think about me?”

Shiro laughs, and then meets Keith’s steely eyes and bites back his smiling, answering “yes.” 

Keith pumps his hand a little faster, feeling the way Shiro’s velvety skin passes through his palm, squeezing slightly at the base but only tenderly brushing the head of his cock with his fingers. Shiro moans. 

“And then you jerk off, thinking about me,” Keith continues. This one isn't a question, but Shiro nods anyway, watching him curiously as Keith releases Shiro to reach his hand inside his own pants. He pushes three of his fingers deep inside of himself, pumping them a few times, his mouth falling open and his eyes threatening to shut. He wouldn't dare close them, not right now, not when he can see Shiro staring up at him in disbelief, his hard cock jumping at the sight of Keith above him. 

“And then you cum for me,” Keith says, his voice low. He wraps his fingers around Shiro once more, dampened with his own slick. Keith can see Shiro’s pupils dilate in his wide eyes, and in barely a whisper, Shiro tells him, “I do.” 

“How often?” Keith asks him, working Shiro at a steady rhythm. 

“Everyday, baby,” Shiro answers, groaning softly and thrusting up into Keith’s grip. 

Keith smirks. “Good.” 

Shiro smiles and shuts his eyes.

“You're big…” Keith continues a moment later, struggling to even touch fingertips around the girth of Shiro’s arousal. 

Shiro looks down at himself, and then up at Keith. 

“I am… what do you think?” Shiro says, somewhat nervously. 

“I guess you're just going to fuck me open,” Keith answers. 

And then Shiro is laughing again, a sputtering laugh full of disbelief and lust and he kisses Keith hotly for a few moments and Keith pumps his fist until Shiro has to stop. He pushes Keith away from him with one hand and stopping the action on his cock with the other. He tries to struggle back against Shiro but it is entirely hopeless. It serves as a reminder that Keith is only touching Shiro because Shiro is allowing it. 

“Keith… baby, I'm going to cum if you don't slow down, and then I won't be able to give you want you want...” 

With that, Keith goes pliant in Shiro’s hands, letting him untangle their bodies. He would do anything if Shiro kept calling him _baby_. 

“Take your pants off.”

Keith stands, and is shocked back into reality when he comes face to face with the open window. Miles and miles of vast desert surround them. And yet, there's an energy, Keith can't explain, like he and Shiro will find something, have found something, out in this wasteland. Like they are meant to be here, in this moment. Like every tragic event in Keith’s life had been designed to lead him here. 

“Keith?” 

Keith shakes himself and refocuses on Shiro, where he sits on the couch, having pushed his pants down to his ankles. He has a hand cupped around his balls, cock curling towards his abdomen. His hair forehead is dewy. His tank top is askew. 

“Fuck..” Keith says. 

In one motion, he shoves his own pants and underwear to the floor, kicks out of his shoes, and straddles Shiro on the couch. 

Shiro’s hands fall to Keith’s hips, his thumbs rubbing affectionate circles over the jut of his hips bones and it makes Keith roll down into imaginary friction, his clit aching with desire, the void inside of him desperate to be filled. Keith reaches forward and wraps both of his hands around Shiro’s cock. 

“I know, _I know, baby._ Hang on.” 

Shiro slides his right hand between Keith’s thighs, humming in satisfaction when he feels how wet Keith is. He brings three fingers to his opening and then slowly pushes inside. 

Keith let's out a broken cry, and he loops his arms around Shiro’s broad shoulders, pressing his face into his neck. He struggles to breathe. It's already a little painful and he's not even taking all of him. 

“You're doing such a good job, Keith.” 

And Keith feels like the statement should make him angry but it… doesn't. It makes him soft, and warm, and his body relaxes, his cunt sinking over Shiro’s blocky knuckles. 

“Fuck..” he says again. 

Shiro doesn't move his hand much, just gently wiggling his fingers inside of Keith, spreading them slightly, coaxing him open. Keith grinds his clit down into Shiro’s palm and both men moan at the same time. 

“Okay,” Keith says breathily. 

“Okay,” Shiro responds. 

He withdraws his fingers slowly, and shakily, Keith scoots onto his lap. Shiro’s hands grip Keith firmly at the waist, stilling him. He reaches down to the floor and pulls a condom from his sock. He hands it to Keith, who looks down at it, confused. 

“You've just been carrying this around?” 

Shiro shrugs. “I always knew someday I'd lose control around you.” 

For a brief moment, they stare into each other's eyes, and then Keith tears the condom open, rolling the latex over Shiro’s yearning erection. He throws the wrapper behind him and Shiro guides his hips until the head of his cock rests at Keith’s opening. Shiro’s hands tighten on Keith, and Keith takes him in. 

Shiro actually gasps as Keith sinks fully onto him, bare ass coming to rest on his quivering thighs. Keith pants quietly, his body slowly adjusting to the new mass inside of him. He feels tense, and he burns where Shiro stretches him beyond his limits. 

“Fuck, baby, you're so hot.” 

Keith sighs, experimentally rolling his hips. His breath catches in his throat. Shiro is so big it's making him pant, unable to relax. 

“Does it hurt?” Shiro asks, hand reaching up to gently pet the side of Keith’s face. 

“Not… exactly,” Keith tells him, still working his hips in small circles, trying to work himself open. 

“You're okay,” Shiro tells him, leaning forward to kiss his lips softly. “You are such a good boy, Keith.” 

With that, Keith melts in Shiro’s arms, and the resistance in his body gives way. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro, pressing his face into Shiro’s neck, kissing him there and tasting his salty skin. He raises and lowers his hips slowly, the drag of Shiro’s cockhead creating a delicious friction as he moves. Shiro groans in satisfaction, his broad hands sliding from Keith’s hips to his ass cheeks. He spreads them in a way that makes Keith gasp and grind his clit into Shiro’s abdomen, at the base of his cock. Keith can feel Shiro reaching so deep inside of him, it makes him feel butterflies. 

“Shiro…” Keith whispers against his neck, grinding his throbbing flesh into the other man. 

“Yes, baby…?”

But Keith has nothing to say. 

Shiro takes ahold of him, one hand on his hips and the other on his ribcage, and lifts Keith a few inches above him. Shiro looks up at him intensely, unwavering, hungry, and he doesn't want to look away but Keith cannot keep his eyes from falling shut when Shiro starts to fuck up into him. 

The only sounds for miles and miles are the sounds of their heavy breathing. Shiro is splitting Keith open, and Keith lets himself cry out over and over again, finding that the sound only inspires Shiro further. 

It's exactly what Keith needs and he orgasms a second time, and maybe a third, but he can't really tell because his whole body is sensitive and screaming and he never wants it to end. 

But it does end. Shiro grunts and moans, and with his great body shaking beneath Keith, he climaxes, and goes still. Keith is still whimpering when Shiro’s head falls forward to lay on Keith’s chest, panting loudly. Keith hugs his head to him, scratching his nails through Shiro’s hair. Keith kisses his forehead. Shiro slowly regains control over his breathing and his hands begin rubbing soothing patterns up and down Keith’s back. 

As Shiro softens inside of him, Keith can no longer feel where he ends, and Shiro begins. 

“Thank you, Shiro,” Keith says. “For everything.” 

And Shiro laughs in disbelief once again, looking up at Keith through fluttering eyelashes. “You are unreal,” Shiro tells him fondly. 

Keith will ask for an explanation later, for now, he's content. He holds Shiro to him and rests his chin on Shiro’s head, watching sand and sky change colors with the setting sun. He thinks, this could be it: Keith and Shiro, this thrumming desert, and their pounding hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. It's been several years since I've written fanfiction and I had a ton of fun writing this. Let me know what you think! I'm feral-days on tumblr.


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